Recovery
by ByakBlade
Summary: Just some drabbles of the team as they try to cope with the side effects of the job.
1. Readjustment

Jemma was scared.

Hide.

She could hear them. They were coming. She needed to leave.

Run.

They couldn't catch her. Not after she lasted this long. Their hands grabbed her waist and she flailed, trying to break free.

Run.

Run.

RUN!

"Jemma!"

Jemma froze at the sound of her name. The sandy dunes changed to lab tables. "They" turned to the worried face of Fitz and Bobbi's arms around her waist.

She was crouched on the floor of the lab. Fitz took her there this morning when she refused to leave his side. She remembered sitting in a chair watching them work until the humming sounded - in hindsight it was probably just the air conditioning starting up.

Bobbi let go but sat her on the ground. She took her hand. Glass was embedded into her palm, blood oozing from the cuts. Jemma had taken a vial of something and tried to use it as a weapon in her panicked haze.

Fitz got the first aid kit as Bobbi tried to calm her, running her hand through her hair and cooing to Jemma as if she was a child.

"Has she spoken at all?" Bobbi asked when Fitz set down the kit beside them and opened it. With a pair of tweezers, Bobbi began removing the shards.

Fitz shook his head. "No. All I've heard her say is my name or simple words like "stay"." He held Jemma's uninjured hand, it was small and frail compared to his. "I've never seen her like this."

"It's Posttraumatic stress disorder," Bobbi said, "her body still thinks it's in danger. She's grown used to surviving with her primal instincts, it's going to be a hard habit to break."

Once all the glass was in a small bloody pile on a spare petri dish, Bobbi helped Jemma up and guided her to the sink where she turned on the warm water. Careful not to hurt or scare her, she cleaned the wound. The soap stung but Fitz rubbed her back along her spine, trying to keep her calm. His hands seemed to try and map every dip and notch of her vertebrae.

Things had been like this since Fitz pulled her back into the open monolith and onto Earth. No one left her alone, not even for a moment. She was in need of constant attention or she'd lapse into a primal, terrified fit. At night, Fitz or sometimes Skye slept on a bedroll beside her in case she had a nightmare and needed to be calmed. During the day, Jemma was Fitz's shadow in the lab, only leaving when Bobbi took her to the bathroom. Even Coulson came by once with a bag of fast food and insisted on having lunch with her. Jemma was handed off to one person to next like an infant.

"Do you think she's hungry? It's almost noon." Fitz asked like a concerned adult would about a crying child. Bobbi only shrugged as she patted Jemma's hand dry with a towel then took a bandage from the medical kit.

"She could be. I'll grab her something from the mess hall when I'm done fixing her hand."

As Jemma watched Bobbi bind the wound, she started to feel tired. After experiencing an extreme fight or flight response it was normal to feel exhausted as the body tried to reach homeostasis again. Unable to stave off the growing desire to sleep, Jemma gave in and closed her eyes.

Fitz had to carry Jemma back to her room. She was so light in his arms after losing nearly fifty pounds - it was heartbreaking. Everything about her was, from her PTSD to her inability to talk.

Some time ago it was him in her position. Recovering from hypoxia had fundamentally changed him, even worse so that he rebuilt himself on his own. Jemma hadn't been there for him out of guilt but he was here for her. And if there was a god, Fitz would go knocking on his door to keep Jemma safe.

"Just hang in there." He told her sleeping face when he lied her down on the bed. She furrowed her eyebrows at the sound of his voice and one of her hands reached out for him, grabbing at his shirt. He smiled tiredly and pecked her temple.

Efficiently, Fitz untied and pulled off her shoes, put them at the end of the bed, and tucked a blanket around her small body. He had become an expert of taking care of Jemma, he knew what need to be done and how. No matter how much Daisy cared or tried, she didn't understand her like Fitz did.

"It's like you two are psychically linked." She said once. "You just get each other."

Fitz smiled. Maybe they did "get" one and other like Daisy said. Jemma knew what he meant when words failed him and in turn he knew the delicate balance of space and companionship she needed. They were the perfect team.

A soft knock sounded from the door and Fitz turned to see Bobbi in the doorway, holding a tray of cafeteria food.

"Is she asleep?" She asked and set down the black plastic tray on the side table. Fitz nodded.

"Yeah, but she'll probably want to eat when she wakes up."

"I didn't know what she liked so I got her a bit of everything." Bobbi questered to the ham sandwich, side salad and brownie with small star-shaped sprinkles. "If she wants something else, just let me know."

"Jemma isn't too picky, don't worry."

For a while they just stand there, watching Jemma. It's odd for both of them to see her in the flesh after six months of Fitz searching for any way to get her back and Bobbi covering for them. They formed an odd partnership to keep Jemma safe.

"Do you think she'll ever be okay again?" Fitz finally asked. Bobbi just smiled and patted his shoulder.

"Of course, she has you after all."


	2. Wounds

**Author's note: _Just a short little drabble about Bobbi and Hunter dealing with thoughts of Ward as she recovers._**

Bobbi Morse was a strong person, she had to be to do the things she did. But she never knew she had the strength to literally take a bullet for someone else.

In theory, most people would say they'd die for the the ones they loved but Bobbi thought only a fraction would ever do it in the given situation. She proved she was one of the few. And because of it she was lying in a bed, hooked up to several machines and on a cocktail of pain killers.

For the past three hours since she woke up, she could only think of one thing. Grant Ward. He must be a sadist for what he intended to do to her. To force her to watch Lance get shot and die while trying to save her. It filled her with a sick rage, the kind of a killer and as soon as she can, Bobbi will end Ward.

To the side of her bed in the medical pod, Lance seemed to sense her seething rage. With his eyes closed he reached out and touched her shoulder.

"S'all right, love." He mumbled sleepily. Peeking open one of his eye, he scooted closer. "Just go back to sleep, you have an other surgery tomorrow. Don't need to be stressed." _An other_ _surgery._ Bobbi hated the sound of that. She all ready had four, how many more until she was in the clear?

With a huff, Bobbi turned on her side. She wished she could sleep but she can't. Her mind is awake and teeming with thoughts of how she'll kill Ward, of how it'll feel. The sick bastard was the sole thing she could think of.

No, that wasn't true. There was something else and much worse than Ward that she couldn't stop thinking about. But that was something _far_ beyond her capabilities.

Once again, Lance seemed to sense her thoughts again. "Bob, there's nothing you can do for either of these situations. Just focus on getting better right now."

"But I can't, Lance." She slammed her fist into the mattress in anger and it sent a pulse of pain to her arm and neck. Bobbi didn't mind though, pain proved she was alive and not six feet under. "Simmons could be dead and Ward needs to be! And I'm just lying here, useless!"

"You're not useless, Bob!" He held down her arm and looked at her. His eyes were serious, a rare thing for Lance Hunter. "You're the reason I'm still alive." He said quietly.

They both fell silent. While it's true that Bobbi is the reason why Ward failed to kill Lance, she can't forgive herself for allowing for the situation to ever happen. She's supposed to be a protector and she failed.

"Lance," she began. "I've built my entire life around keeping people safe and I may have taken the bullet intended for you but that doesn't mean it won't happen again. And maybe I can't protect you, maybe -"

"No maybes, you'll be there to save my ass no matter what." Lance touched her neck tenderly, careful not to hurt. "A person who loves her team is hard to kill."

Bobbi snorted. "That's the cheesy thing I've hear you say." He gave her a cheeky grin.

"I can think of plenty more cheesy lines I dropped, particularly while we're sha-"

"Nope, stop it right there. The last thing we need is Colson walking and hearing you talking about our sex life."

"You're probably right, considering the man thinks we did it on the back of his car."

Bobbi chuckled and told him to go back to sleep. Her neck and back ached painfully, her lug is on fire and she couldn't even _feel_ her leg yet. The doctors said her recovery could last six months or more and even then she'd need to use a brace for the rest of her life. Bobbi wished she could say it was unfair but Lance's life was worth far more than any of her limbs - everyone on the team was. And she was going to move heaven and earth while she healed to help Fitz cope, Colson rebuild SHIELD and Daisy embrace who she is.

Oh, and make sure Lance doesn't do anything stupid again.


End file.
